


silence, in all its forms.

by starlightlesbian



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: F/F, adora doesn't want to be saved, adora unintentionally, both of them are assholes, catra saves adora, or maybe she can't be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 12:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17407247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightlesbian/pseuds/starlightlesbian
Summary: but after all this time, she couldn’t leave her there to die.





	silence, in all its forms.

sometimes, in the worst moments of your life, all you want is silence. catra, of all people, knew that in spades. there were moments, recent or of memories so long ago they couldn't help but be faded, where one craves it. she’d had many of those. rackets from the rest of the horde trainees when she’s just trying to think, or the sound of tanks and sword clatter on battlefields she’d gotten used to by now. 

but then there are moments when sound is all that fills you. she knows that, she knows that somehow  _ more _ . where silence seems to beckon you closer, closer, and then pulls away. as if to whisper in your ear  _ not yet,  _ like a kiss that barely brushes the lips, or an aroma that only grazes your nose. these are moments of longing more than sensation, and she remembers them well. she can still hear the sound coming from the top bunk, and see the feet swinging down to hit the floor with such elegance and grace it’s almost silent. like some fucking picture perfect image of a ballerina with a tutu and a bun. except this one has a ponytail (always swinging, always smelling freshly of shampoo) and horde issued pajamas. and she always whispers, quiet and mouselike, in the voice that makes catra’s hear soar:  _ can i sleep with you _ ? — and then there’s the noise as she climbs into bed, the creak of the mattress and the rhythm of her breathing, entranced with sleep and smelling like mint. she remembers the feeling to, whether it be the flutter that fills her stomach or how the hairs on the back of her neck always stood. then, there was never silence. she could always hear the blood roaring in her ears, her heartbeat and adora’s ( adora, adora, adora ) in perfect cadence. they were always perfectly matched, weren’t they? and despite how loud it seemed, how overwhelming, one could hear a pin drop. 

or a heart. 

but that’s the past now, and she knows it. presently, things were poisoned with a certain form of complexity. the catra of the past, the one lying in that bed with adora, so still with her heart moving a mile a minute, would never have considered leaving adora behind. briefly, now, as ashamed as she is to say it, she had. she’d seen her there, no longer eight feet tall and glowing, but as the tiny figure she’d once known ( tiny comparatively, the blonde was still a head taller than her brunette counterpart. ) broken, alone, and unnoticed. stupid glimmer and stupid bow and all her stupid friends that stupid adora loved more than she loved her — they were far too busy battling the horde, separate as they’d never been. adora could have met her maker there, pressed against a rock formation, unconscious — and catra had every opportunity to let her. but after all this time, she couldn’t leave her there to die. and thus: a predicament of the current variety, where adora is lying on the cave floor, still so broken. but not unnoticed, and certainly not alone. a savior, clad in battle armour, sits beside her like a wife waiting at the bedside of a war-ragged husband. 

it’s then that adora stirs. 

catra moves forward, as if she’s ready to pounce — ears perked, tail behind her and flicked upwards. eyes trace the blonde, but catra’s no predator. god, if anything, she’s the prey. sitting in wait, hoping, praying, wishing for adora to return. return to her. it’s an ensnarement of her own creation, one she stuck herself in of her own volition, but no one can set her free but the person sitting in front of her. lying, really, until now, when a sudden movement upright almost makes catra flinch. almost. 

“ hey adora, ” she greets, avoiding the thump, thump, thump of her heartbeat in her chest, and the anger that rises with it, the bile of a sickness that starts and ends with one girl she used to love. 

“ catra? ” voice is panicked, and catra doesn’t blame her. she can see it, eyes that always reminded catra of the sky taking in the surroundings — not that there’s much to see. and then they lock on hers, scared and alone and angry. catra hates her. 

catra loves her.

“ surprised this time i get to play the hero? ” examining claws with eyes not meeting adora’s, _ not again _ , the own nonchalance in her voice surprises her. the taunting of it, however, does not. 

“ where did you take me? where are glimmer and bow? ” confusion has turned to defense, and she should have anticipated it. they are enemies. maybe, somehow, for longer than either of them knew. but it still hurts, the lack of trust. 

“ them? again? i thought we were friends, adora? ”

“ where are they, catra? whatever you’re doing, you don’t have to —  ”

“ do this? ” now it’s her term to be defensive. cruel, even, as she flicks dirt away from her palm and onto the cave ground. “ isn’t that a little tired, at this point, adora? the message of friendship and teamwork and ignoring your oh-so-heroic betrayal? ” eyes flick over her. “ your friends are outside,  _ fighting _ . where i should be. if you know, i hadn’t protected you. ” 

there’s only silence from the other direction. 

“ oh? ” it’s now catra decides to move forward, circling adora with eyes clinging to her, thinking, wishing, waiting for a response. “ cat got your tongue? ”

_ say something, adora. say something. i don’t want there to be silence.  _

“ i thought you hated me. ”

she did, didn’t she? the truth of the matter, despite denial on any end, was that catra hated adora as much as she loved her. she hated nights spent in worry and in wait, hoping that somehow, she’d see those feet swing down again and feel the air swoosh by her as adora dropped to the floor and hear the perfect, softness of her voice. but there’s nothing perfect or soft now, not about either of them. there’s nothing but memories, or the fractured versions of them: it’s easier to romanticise the past when you’re longing for the warmth of it. and it’s easy to demonize it when all you can feel is cold. are they as fractured as she thinks they are? is anything about either of them redeemable? salvageable? or is the hurt displayed all there is underneath? is the duo that’s always been empty now, drained of love and care and affection and left to be a cavern, a husk, a nothingness of what they used to be? 

“ i do. ” 

there’s no time for either of them to ruminate on catra’s confirmation, adora has already stood. sword in hand, still unwieldy in smaller arms. eyes glazed over not with the cruelty of war, but with sheer determination. with the heroic dedication catra had admired, once upon a time. 

“ i have to go back out there, i — ”

“ so you can die, adora? as much as i would love to have you out of my way — ”

“ hey! ”

“ — you can’t. ” eyes are steely now, gold and blue turned to stone in both hues. “ we need you to finish this. ” we, or i? isn’t all war personal vengeance? 

“ you don’t need me. my friends do. ” adora stands, shakily, and looks seconds away from collapsing. it’s then catra realises adora has grown to hate her too. gone are the days of love and determination and a readiness to take the other in with open arms. there’s just as much resentment in the abandoner than the abandonee, and that fact makes catra sick. she’s the only one with the right to be furious. she was left behind. 

“ funny, how you care about being with your friends now. how you refuse to leave them ... ” there’s bitterment, there’s resentment, there’s hurt. they all coexist, for a moment, in agony filled speech. 

“ it’s not like that, catra, ” adora’s voice is soft, as if she’s talking to a child. or talking someone off the ledge. it’s almost reminiscent of a whisper, soft and sweet. of  _ can i sleep with you _ ?

“ it is like that! ” she’s angrier than she anticipated, and she doesn’t know she’s moving closer to adora until she feels the warmth the blonde radiates against her. they’re not touching, no matter how starved catra is for the arms wrapped around her and the breath on the back of her neck and all those painful, silent memories. “ you chose them, over me. you chose your side — your grave! — and now you have to lie in it! ”

“ catra — ” 

they’re so close, adora’s breath might be her own, the intermingling of angry huffs and desperate words shoved outwards unfinished, not yet fully baked by aware minds. she still smells like peppermint tea. 

“ what, adora? how are you going to explain yourself this time? ”

it’s then adora realises she can’t. it’s then catra realises she won’t. 

it’s then they’re barely any unit of measurement away from one another, and electricity seems to radiate off of both of them. one faulty movement, one misplaced step, and lips brushing would turn into lips crashing into one another, and finally releasing the anger and the hate — or amplifying it.

she’d never get to know, would she? 

“ i have to go, catra. ”

_ i know.  _ she thinks. 

she says nothing. 

and then, with adora hobbling towards the cavefront, heading out to the battlefield, catra realises why adora has always tried to save her — no one, not even catra, could ever save adora. not from herself, from her nobility and her kindness and her desire to see change. from the heart bursting with desire to change the world, and her mind abuzz with all the ways to do it. They weren’t unsalvageable, adora and catra. they were unfixable. 

sometimes, in the worst moments of your life, all you want is silence. and now, now that she gets it, all catra wants is noise. all she wants is the sound of the breathing, the sound of hearts beating, the whispers. this time, she wants them to say  _ i love you too _ . 

but all she gets is silence. 


End file.
